


something i can turn to (somebody i can kiss)

by coffee_music_books



Series: love jukebox [2]
Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: A little smutty, Body Worship, F/F, Fluffy, Kinda
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-12
Updated: 2017-04-12
Packaged: 2018-10-17 23:39:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10604706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/coffee_music_books/pseuds/coffee_music_books
Summary: You stopped believing in the legendary heroes from your childhood as you got older, instead seeing the real heroes in your life.In which Waverly wants desperately to be a hero, and Nicole shows her what a hero she is.





	

**Author's Note:**

> title taken from and fic inspired by Something Just Like This (feat. Coldplay) by The Chainsmokers
> 
> I don't own Wynonna Earp, I just have a lot of feelings about it

Pop used to read to you and Haley when you were little. Haley would come into your room and you two would lay in your bed and listen to him read from _Grimm's Fairytales_ or  _King Arthur_ or  _The Legend of Tarzan_. He would read for a while, until he saw Haley's drifted off or noticed your heavy eyelids. He'd kiss your forehead and carry Haley back to her bed. Tell you to dream of heroes and legends, and you'd be one someday. You believed him when you were young, and you never quite outgrew it. It's part of what motivated you to become a police officer. 

 

You stopped believing in the legendary heroes from your childhood as you got older, instead seeing the  _real_ heroes in your life. Like Mommy, wearing her nurse's scrubs, or Pop in his fireman uniform. Or Haley, yelling at some girls in the hallway who were whispering about you. She was small for her age and younger than you, but spitfire and bold, and she always stood up for you. Or Sammi, your first roommate at the police academy, who was brash and aggressive but loved fiercely and loyally and encouraged you to be yourself, bravely.

 

Xavier Dolls becomes a hero to you even before you like him. He's strong, and you can see he has demons in his past when you look into his eyes. (Of course, you don't know that they're  _literal_ demons until much later.) He's rude and no-nonsense and pushes you away from the very beginning, but he's smart and level-headed in the face of a crisis. A large part of you fears him, but it's well rivaled by the part of you that respects him. 

 

You know him as Henry first, but Doc Holliday is someone you admire. He's courteous and charming, and if you weren't so painfully, I-could-probably-cry-rainbows-if-I-tried gay, you'd probably find him attractive. He treats you like a comrade, even sometimes as a superior. When he throws you a shotgun after hastily telling you who he  _really_ is, you're honored to feel like his equal. Later on, you realize that you should be surprised by how forward-thinking he is. You half expect him to disapprove of your lifestyle, and though you're not totally shocked, you're incredibly relieved when he treats you no differently.

 

Wynonna reignites your long-dormant childhood wonder when she shows you the Peacemaker in action. You've always thought of her has a pain in the ass with a heart of gold, especially when you see her reacting to Willa's sudden return. Her heroics are the stuff of legends, and her team rallies behind her with pride. You find yourself thrilled and honored and humbled to be included in her not-so merry band (well, Waverly is sort of merry). She reminds you of a sort of reluctant Batman, who wears her heroism like a brand and feels the fresh pain every single day. You think you respect her the most, and you feel lucky to consider her a friend. You're confident that she feels that way about you, too.

 

You see quickly that your little scooby gang harbors secrets and gifts and talents that you haven't yet begun to understand, but Waverly surprises you the most of all. Her bravery surpasses that of Dolls and Wynonna and even Doc. Anyone can be brave in the face of battle, but in the face of personal growth and change? Wynonna would run for the hills.

 

Waverly handles Wynonna's return and her break-up with Champ with more grace and beauty than you can fathom. You think she has more strength her pinky finger than you do in your whole body. She welcomes you and the implications that a relationship with you brings with open arms. She tells you she likes you with fear in her voice but steel in her eyes, and kisses you with conviction. In many ways you look up to her. The parts of you that want to protect her are constantly at war with the parts of you that believe in her absolutely. She's the greatest conundrum you've ever faced, and you're drawn to her instantly.

 

Perhaps the most and least surprising thing about Waverly is her burning desire to  _be the hero_. While Wynonna wears the Earp curse like a burden, Waverly leans into it, diving into research. She reads and learns and compiles to the best of her ability, using her sharp intelligence and unwavering focus to fight her family's enemies. She is careful and thoughtful where Wynonna is brash and clumsy.

 

You see the frustration in her heart as she regards Wynonna's assuming the position as the heir. You can't fathom how a person can  _want_ something so much and simply not be rewarded. You think Wynonna would hand Peacemaker and the title of heir over to Waverly in a heartbeat if she could. It's the most blatant representation of "life's not fair" that you've ever seen, and your heart breaks and breaks for Waverly. 

 

It takes some time before Waverly exposes you to this part of her. You've been able to read her for so long that you forget that this is something you shouldn't already know.

 

The two of you are nursing mugs of hot drinks--tea for Waverly, hot cocoa with cinnamon for you--in front of the fire pit on the Earp homestead after a particularly grueling case. You've long since given up spending nights in your apartment. Between work with the scooby gang and dating Waverly--she's your  _girlfriend_ and it's real and it's beautiful--you feel as though you're completely moved in. You've even brought your cat here. 

 

You're sitting in one of the old lawn chairs, mug in the grass beside you so that you can properly hold Waverly in your lap. You can see a weariness and tension in her body, and you curl yourself and the thick, wool blanket around her and wait. She's silent for a long time, but she leans into you and drinks in your comfort. You're happy to be that for her. You wish she'd let you do it more; she doesn't always have to be so strong.

 

"A long time ago," she says, interrupting the quiet night. You shift so you can see her face, and you notice she's staring into her empty mug. "A revenant we called the Barber was terrorizing Purgatory." She swallows. "He would make people confess their sins and seek forgiveness, and then he'd kill them." You feel a shiver run down your spine. You remember the bizarre murders last year. You hadn't known the true nature of evil that characterized Purgatory, but you'd felt the terror of those kills. 

 

"Eventually, he went after Wynonna. He told her to seek forgiveness from the person she hurt the most." You think you know who she's talking about. "And then she apologized to me for every horrible thing that happened to me in our lives. Daddy, Willa, her leaving." She sighs and turns towards you, and you finally see the tears in her eyes. "I told her it was none of those things. I told her that I should be the heir." She looks into your eye and you can feel how ashamed she is. "It's the worst thing I think I've ever said to her. And, to be completely honest, I still sort of feel that way in the worst parts of me. That I deserve it, I earned it. That I wanted it more." She narrows her eyes, looking down into her mug again. "The truth is, I always wanted to be the hero of the story. I wanted it so much, I told my own sister she didn't deserve it the way I did, that I was better for the job." She pouts her bottom lip and a tear slips down her cheek. "But I'm not a hero."

 

"Now, now," you say, your voice soothing as you reach up to wipe her cheek. "We both know that's not true."

 

"Do we?" Her voice is hard with frustration, and hoarse with her tears. The dissonance of it splits your heart.

 

"Waves, you're the bravest, strongest person I know." You chuckle and take a moment to marvel that she can't see that. It's, like, the first thing you saw in her. Well, that and all of the beer dripping down her body. "When I thought of the person I wanted to end up with, I always pictured this beautiful girl, with kindness in her heart and steel in her eyes. I wasn't looking for someone with superhuman strength, or powers, or some mystical gun. An enchanted pistol does not a hero make. As far as I'm concerned, the only person in our little army that has the makings of a  _real_ hero is you."

 

She's looking at you with soft, disbelieving eyes, and you pause. Waverly is so beautiful, even when she's upset, and that just shouldn't be possible. You rest your palm against her cheek and rub your thumb against the ridge of her cheekbone, under her eye. She leans her face into your hand and shifts so she's straddling your lap and rests her forearms on your shoulders as she leans in to kiss you. You often get lost in kissing Waverly. She's so soft and so responsive, humming and shifting against your body. When she rises, it takes you a moment to clock the loss of weight and warmth in your lap. She grins knowingly at you as she reaches out a hand to pull you up.

 

You carry your mugs to the kitchen and toss the blanket in the basket near the couch in the living room before walking quietly into Waverly's bedroom. It's late, and though you're not sure if Wynonna is home from her nightly drinking duties, you don't want to chance waking her. You close the door to Waverly's room behind you and turn to find her sitting on her bed shedding her shoes. You take off your sneakers and walk towards her, socks padding against the hard wood floor.

 

You kiss her softly, reverently, sweetly, and lower her backwards against the pillows. Her arms are wrapped around your shoulders and you rest your body against hers, running one of your hands up and down her sides. You use the other of your hands to brush fingers through her hair and tuck it behind her ears. Her hair is so soft, her skin so silky. You want to run your fingers along the entire length of her body. Tonight, you plan to.

 

You kiss her mouth, sucking on her bottom lip and swiping against it with your tongue. You love everything about kissing Waverly. She seems to channel her entire being into her kisses. Sometime you feel like you can taste her emotions in them. Tonight you taste vulnerability, and you want to treat that like the gift it is. You shift your face slightly so you can kiss the corner of her mouth, her cheek, the space right below her ear. You try to kiss every inch of her cheeks and neck, and when she realizes what you're doing, you feel her mouth stretch into a smile. You pull back to look at her. Her eyes are closed but her smile still makes them turn up in that way you love. You lean up on your elbows so you can kiss her forehead and rub the tip of your nose against hers before lowering back to her collar bone. You divest both of you of shirts and bras before you continue, wanting to feel more of her body against yours.

 

You don't know how long you spend kissing down Waverly's shoulders and chest. If her restless, squirming body is any indication, it's a fairly long time. But you're in no rush. Tonight isn't the fiery heat you normally feel when you're skin-to-skin with Waverly. Instead, you feel a low thrum, like your body is warm but calm instead of heated and jumpy. Though you feel the familiar ache deep in your belly, it's easy to push aside in favor of kissing a line down the center of Waverly's chest.

 

She's breathing heavily and arching her back by the time you finally lick a slow, languid circle around one of her nipples. Waverly's breasts are so much more sensitive than yours, and you learned early on that sucking or nipping hurts her. When you press a hot, open-mouthed kiss to the skin at the swell of it, you hear her whimper a high-pitched whine.

 

You feel a pang of guilt that maybe you're teasing her too much. You crawl further down her body, pressing kisses more insistently into the skin of her belly, the scar on her side from that time she was grazed by a bullet. You're struck again by how strong she is, so seemingly indestructible staring down the barrel of a gun. You run your tongue over the uneven texture of the scar, hoping she can feel in your body your admiration of her.

 

You wish you could tell Waverly how amazing she is without seeming like the blindly supportive girlfriend. You think she'd listen, maybe even believe you a little bit. But you know the darkest recesses of her mind, where her crushed dreams and regrets and grief live, would probably remind her soon that she isn't the heir, maybe even convince her she isn't good enough. Where you think your words would fail, you rely heavily on action. You use your body to paint truth into her skin. You run your lips and fingers and tongue over her body with tenderness and hope she feels all the things you think she'd ignore if they were spoken.

 

Finally, you dip your fingers into the waistband of her jeans and pull them, along with her underwear, down her legs. It takes some effort--she's always wearing such  _tight_ jeans, though you're hardly one to complain--and toss them carelessly on the floor by the bed as you stand to yank your leggings off of your body. You take a second, still standing next the edge of the bed, to admire her in all of her naked glory. Waverly in public is prettier than most. But here in the privacy of the bedroom, looking through her hooded eyes at you and breathing heavily through her swollen lips, she's stunning to behold. You don't know how you got so lucky with her. 

 

You pick up one of her ankles in each hand as you press one of your knees onto the bed. You kiss a line up one leg to her knee and then switch before settling her ankles back on top of the bedspread. Her knees remain bent and spread to the side, and you run your hands up the skin of her inner thighs as it's exposed to you. 

 

You take your time, pressing hot, open-mouthed kisses up each of her thighs leading to the quick of her body before settling. You run your lips and tongue over the most secret part of her softly, slowly. You revel in the different textures, the sweet and tangy taste. Her thighs are draped over your elbows so you and reach up and rest one hand against her side. You feel her back arch as pleasure rolls through her and you feel more and more confident. You're rarely nervous during sex with Waverly, but tonight feels important. 

 

Her breathing gets faster and she hums higher as she nears the zenith. Waverly grabs your free hand, tangling your fingers together, before running her other fingers through your hair. You squeeze her hand twice as you feel her body stiffen, muscles coiling and growing taught as she reaches her climax. For a few beautiful seconds, she's suspended, and you glance up through your eyelashes to see her face thrown back. To you she seems lost to the world, caught in the rolling waves of her orgasm. All at once it releases, and she exhales a long sigh as her body relaxes. She feels boneless and fluid, and you coax her through the small, trembling aftershocks that quake her body. Eventually you pull your mouth away, pressing a quick kiss to her inner thigh, belly, and over her heart. You discreetly wipe your mouth against your arm before pressing a short but loving kiss against Waverly's lips. 

 

You settle back against the sheets and open your arms so she can settle her body on yours. She rests her head against your chest and presses herself against you, and you feel her heartbeat fluttering fast in her chest. She sighs again, a beautiful melodic sound across your chest. A small, selfish part of you wants to get off, too, but you feel happy and Waverly feels heavy with sleep. You try to clumsily maneuver the comforter from under your bodies before giving up and pulling a throw blanket from the end of the bed and draping across the both of you.

 

"Wynonna may be the Earp heir," you whisper. Her breath feels even, but you think she's awake enough to hear you. "But you're definitely my hero, Waves. Just like this."

 


End file.
